


Free To Be Together

by TheCarrot



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Getting Together, Kissing, M/M, Surving the Apocolypse, The Night At Crowley's Flat (Good Omens), Wrath of Crowley, based on usedtobehmc's amazing Wrath of Crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2021-02-16 08:55:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21505249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCarrot/pseuds/TheCarrot
Summary: They had walked from the Ritz, back to Crowley's and only as Aziraphale sat in the kitchen watching his demon boil a kettle is when he realized that they were free.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 110





	Free To Be Together

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Usedtobehmc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Usedtobehmc/gifts).



> Based on Usedtobehmc's amazing Wrath of Crowley comic!! This is pretty much straight from her writing and drawings because why mess with perfection? Please check it out on Instagram if you haven't already!!

“To the world?”

“To the world.”

The clink of their glasses is electric in Aziraphale’s fingertips, not dissimilar to the shock of pleasure that shoots through him at Crowleys answering smile to their salutations. The Angel almost can’t believe it, can’t believe it’s all over.

Around them the Ritz buzzes with the sound of patrons enjoying their small talk and the flurry of activity from waiters that are in a hurry despite being paid not to show it. It’s an oddly pleasant sound, only for the fact that there was a chance Aziraphale would never hear it again, but even the angel tunes it out as Crowley starts describing Gabriels face and the way even Sandalphon had hidden behind the archangel as he breathed fire at them mere hours ago.

“You should have seen it Angel!” Crowley snickers as a waiter refills their glasses.

And Aziraphale... Aziraphale can’t help but laugh. It’s full bodied, coming from the bottom of his heart and his tummy and his toes because, for the first time in millennia, he’s able to take a full breath without the fear of his Higher Authority looking down on them. 

There's just this moment. And the next one after that.

Just him and Crowley.

The champagne is soft on his tongue, crisp, light and effervescent like a good champagne should be; the candle on the table burns down to the last of it’s wick but doesn’t go out as Crowley doubles over in his chair even as the Principally describes the way Micheal had deigned to miracle him a towel. 

“ ‘Oh my,’ he said’ Aziraphale recounts with a laugh. The latest bottle of Champagne warms the blood in his veins that doesn’t need to exist but Aziraphale enjoys the way it is making his head spin none the less. “Then he just handed me a nice cashmere towel and practically fled!”

Crowley has almost folded over the table, the demon doing his best to hold back the hissing snickers that Aziraphale can hear anyways. His tan cheeks are flush with the bubbles of a wonderful 1966 and Aziraphale wants to reach out and brush his lips against the rosy pink skin. The Angel bets it would be as heavenly as anything he’d ever experienced, 

Hours pass like minutes and Aziraphale can’t even think why their waiter looks so tired, but their good mood must be infectious because when Crowley hands over a credit card, one the angel has no doubt belongs the accounts of Hell, their waiter says nothing about the time. Aziraphale himself leaves a few denarii on the table and their waiter gives them a genuinely confused smile in return as he escorts them to the door.

Dawn is just starting to break over the far part of the city and there is a crispness to the air that signals the end, not just of a summer that had been hot and all encompassing, but also the end of something... else. So much so that Aziraphale doesn’t think twice as he reaches out to loop his arm into Crowleys as they make their way down the sidewalk; he just keeps talking about everything and nothing… and ultimately, he comes back to something that makes the demon smile. 

“I let go of a gift from the Almighty twice Crowley!” Aziraphale complains, voice too loud in the early morning streets and Crowley falls into his side with a shake of his head.

“It’s just a sword angel, it’s not like you ever ussssed it.” Sunglasses slip down a freckled nose and Aziraphale wonders why he’s holding himself back from pushing them back up the bridge of the pale nose before him. Maybe he could even take them off… well, maybe he could-

Slowly, they make their way through St. James Park, too early for the ducks to be awake, than around and back towards town. Theres a light dew that’s falling, clinging onto windows and clothes of those crazy champagne drinkers who are still revealing in their freedom enough to be out that early in the morning but Aziraphale can’t find it in himself to complain even as Crowley shivers next to him. 

It’s then that the tiredness sets in and Crowley reaches up to push his sunglasses back with a yawn, rubbing absently at golden eyes that slowly blink past the endless ethereal blue that watch him as a twinge of affection sears through the angel’s stomach. Aziraphale is not one for sleep, but he thinks, now as he yawns as well, that even he could lay down for a quick, week long, nap.

Crowley’s smirk is lopsided as he offers up, “How about a tea Angel?” 

“Your flat is closest my dear,” Aziraphale smiles in response.

Without hesitation Crowley tightens his grip on Aziraphale’s arm and turns the angel so they can cross the street and in almost no time, they are pressed together in the tiny lift that leads to the top floor in the demons apartment building. 

Crowley’s apartment is exactly like it was last night, barren walls with a modern sofa along with verdant plants and a cozy kitchen that looks so out of place it feels like it was pulled out of the imagination of a demon who had never cooked before but was used to one in a cozy old bookshop across town.

“Make yourself at home, angel.” Crowley muses and with a careful disregard the demon removes his sunglasses and tosses them onto a table as Aziraphale closes the door behind them. Wet black fabric clings to him as Crowley starts to peel off his jacket before stalking away into the adjacent room. 

Aziraphale rolls his eyes, the gesture light but amused as the last of the nights champagne bubbles through him. “Yes dear,”

Crowley must not hear him and Aziraphale starts to make his way towards the kitchen, towards the sound of the kettle thats just starting to fill itself and the smell of the expensive tea Crowley showed him yesterday before their switch but something out of the corner of his eye makes the Angel stop.

Blue eyes land on the lean tan skin of Crowley’s back and Aziraphale inhales sharply at the sight. The angel can’t pull his eyes away as Crowley sheds his usual grey shirt, the tight fabric clinging to him stubbornly as the demon drops the shirt to the floor. With a wave of his arm Crowley summons a dark t-shirt that looks so well worn as to be thread-bare and pulls it over his head making red hair curl every which way. 

It’s enough to have Aziraphale suck in a short breath and think to himself, ‘Oh.’

\--

Aziraphale sits at the small kitchenette table, the thoughts whirring inside of his brain the only thing combating the exhaustion seeping into his human form. Across from him Crowley stands at the stove, golden eyes blinking blearily at the steam rising from the kettle, his glasses still missing and it lets Aziraphale see the exhaustion in the lithe frame and… and it’s…everything. His thoughts race as he realizes what he had been holding back all this time.

The simple thought that he is finally home.

He’s not in the bookshop, he’s not in Soho, and he’s not in Heaven.

But Aziraphale is home. He’s safe, Crowley is safe and they’re together. It’s like a switch get’s flipped inside the angels head. Outwardly, nothing’s changed, Adam saw to that; but instances flock to Aziraphale in a flood of memories that make his mind race and he can’t stop it. He doesn’t want too.

For the first time since the Beginning, Aziraphale is letting the things that had been building between Crowley and himself slip into their proper place. Everything that he had been holding back for centuries… for millennia… all at once it rushed through him, then around him and in a manner befitting Crowley, had slithered into his heart where it had always meant to be.

Now it’s different, Aziraphale feels a flush rush into his cheeks as he gets to his feet, unsure if he miracles himself to Crowleys side because he does not consciously register moving the few feet to the stove.

“Crowley.” Aziraphale knows what’s different now. 

He is. He himself.

He’s not afraid.

He’d been afraid for so long but now no longer.

He was free.

They were free.

Crowley makes a sound of surprise in the back of his throat as he lifts a hand to clasp onto Aziraphale’s elbow, the angel’s fingers sliding back to tangle in crimson locks. Golden eyes slip closed as a surge of warmth goes up his spine and into his chest.

Free to finally be honest with each other.

Aziraphale pulls back slowly, feeling bereft with even the smallest distance; his lips red and just the faintest hint of swollen and Crowley doubt’s he’s seen a better sight in all his years. 

“Alright, Angel?” Crowley muses with a rough voice, golden eyes stinging as they take in the rumpled being before him and now he knows that for all the centuries past, he’s only made himself a heart so his pulse could skip a beat in this moment as Aziraphale smiles back at him.

Aziraphale sniffs, barely holding back the lump in his throat. “Yes... yes, I'm sorry Crowley. I had too, you see. I had to.”

Crowley doesn’t respond, merely grabs a fistful of tartan collar and beige fabric before he pulls the Angel in as close as possible and crashing his lips against his.

They were free.

Finally free.

To be together. 

They made love that night.

And it was everything they had ever wanted.

Damn the consequences; which alas, would be felt sooner than either of them would be ready.


End file.
